Bandit
by snaregirl007
Summary: Blanche Dixon is hard, quiet, and introverted. How will her life and the Bondurant's lives intertwine?
1. Chapter 1

"It's just not like a lady to smoke!" Mother called as I lit up. I wasn't about to argue with her, she had her fight on. I just sat on the porch and waited for the shipment to arrive.

I shifted my thin skirt, knocking the ash off my rolled cigarette. Mother was busy at the hearth, cooking up what measly stew she could. The Depression had hit Virginia hard, but it hadn't changed our lives terribly.

We were poor to begin with, my father (God rest his soul) had raised this hovel back during the turn of the century, when people still had alcohol and money. He had died shortly after, or so mother said. If you asked my older brother, Jerry, he would have said that Father was still out there, somewhere. He had served in the Great War, but never returned. Jerry insists he was shanghaied into the French Foreign Legion. I told him dead was dead, French Foreign Legion or not.

Jerry wouldn't be home for another half an hour, which wasn't bad. He had managed to get a job working for some man in the town. He made some money, and always gave Mother and I a little bit to live on. The man had come by a couple times, on Jerry's insistence. He was a handsome man, with a nice tailcoat and expensive shoes. I don't think he was all that impressed with our living arrangements. I mean, coming from the big city and all.

I stubbed my cigarette out and reclined in the rocking chair, slowly swaying back and forth. The Bondurant brothers were running late today. Of course, the moonshine business wasn't exactly lucrative; I had to give them that. All the alcohol had dried up when Congress passed that act back in 1920, and now 12 years later it seemed like they'd never repeal it. Perhaps that wouldn't be so bad, the Bondurant boys had to be making a killing off it.

Mother had developed a taste for the Bondurant's brand right after the law passed. I suspected she drank too much, as did Jerry. Of course, though, Jerry drank like a sailor. I was probably the only one that managed to resist the bottle for the week, and on the weekends in moderation.

"Blanche Josephine Dixon. You put on a heavier shirt or you're like to catch a cold. I ain't payin' for no cold." Mother fussed from the big pot inside. I stood up and walked inside, the floor creaking with each step. My small room was above the rest, split in half with Jerry. Apparently Father thought it was completely fine for two grown adults to live in the same space. I, on the other hand, did not. But the measly sheet I had separating our sides was good enough. I climbed the ladder and ducked over to Jerry's side, and grabbed one of his flannels. Jerry had about fifty pounds of muscle on me, and it showed when I put the shirt on.

I scuttled back down and resumed my post on the front porch. These boys were as late as could be. Mother brought me out a little tin bowl of stew and looked apologetic.

"We have to give Jerry the meat. He makes the money." She said, letting go of the bowl and backing away.

"I know." I looked at the five vegetables dotting my shallow broth. "Mother, I've told you. I could hunt. You know I've got a good eye." I sloshed the stew around, "I can't live off of vegetables alone, mother."

She shrugged again, and I lifted the stew to my mouth. I sipped on it, and pinched the vegetables one by one, hoping that they'd somehow last longer than I knew they were going to. When that was gone, I pulled my papers and tobacco out, rolled myself a new cigarette, and lit. Mother coughed from inside, but I didn't listen before, and I wasn't about to listen now.

The rattling of a motor made it's way up our driveway, and I saw, distinctly, Howard Bondurant waving his ugly hat from on top of the car. Jack was behind the wheel, as usual, and Forrest was riding in the other seat.

I waved back at Howard, and stood. I stretched out, and then walked to the car.

"Boys." I nodded, handing Howard some money.

"As usual Blanche, such a talker." Howard chuckled, and handed me a crate of his finest apple moonshine.

"Smart man knows when to keep his mouth shut, smart woman knows when to open hers." I huffed. The alcohol was heavier than I thought it would be, and I kind of stumbled away from the car, almost falling.

Forrest jumped out and grabbed the crate, giving Howard a look that could kill. He grunted and walked with me to the door. I pointed him to the corner, and when he turned to put the crate down, I poured him and his brothers some stew. Jerry didn't need meat, just like I didn't. The Bondurant boys would appreciate it more.

The mugs I used were hot, so I handed Forrest his and then walked the other two back outside.

"Man, oh man, thank you much, Miss Dixon. It's starting to get a little chilly." Jack started, smiling at me. Howard smacked him on the back of the head to make him drive, and then they left.

I watched their car disappear into the distance, watched the dust swirl out behind it. The Bondurant Brothers were a nice enough family; it was just them three, living at their bar. I was getting to be an old maid, and mother nagged at me constantly about marriage or boys. As I watched their dust settle, I thought about a life in the moonshining business.

Chuckling, I turned on my heel and walked inside. Whatever puts food on the table is fine. Whatever puts food on the table is fine.


	2. Chapter 2

I crunched down the road, Jerry's old boots slapping against themselves and blisters forming against my toes. I was wearing his worn-out woolen socks and his old dirty canvas jacket, but I was still cold. His overalls were too long for me, and the flannel underneath them was too far away from my body to keep any warmth. Better than my dresses, though. At least I still had feeling in my feet.

The wind liked to play with my hat, steal it from me. I pulled it down tighter hoping that I wouldn't have to run after the damned thing. I still had a couple miles to go and Lord knows its cold without a hat.

The bag of groceries I was carrying seemed to get heavier and heavier with each step, even though there wasn't much food in it. It was just potatoes and some meat from the local butcher. We weren't eating like kings- but we were eating.

It seemed like even having a dinner was becoming more and more of a blessing, and each cigarette was like smoking gold. We couldn't afford our own tobacco plants, and we couldn't grow anything on our plot of land, anyhow. Our land was for hunters.

Mother says Father hunted with a great big long gun. She says he was a dead eye, that he could shoot a buck at 300 yards without breaking a sweat. Mother also sometimes said he was able to drink men under the table and that he smoked like a chimney, so I took whatever she knew with a grain of salt.

I think I remember Father teaching me how to shoot. I must have been young, though, because I can't remember his face, or the gun.

I shuddered into my jacket again, the wind threatening me with each step. The town we went to for supplies had to be moving farther and farther away from us, there was no way this walk had ever taken this long.

That was a stupid thing to think! How could a town move? Blanche! I scolded myself, chuckling and shaking my head.

Suddenly, a car came flying toward me, and I barely had time to jump off the road. The brakes squealed and someone shouted from inside. I clutched my bundle to me and rolled a couple times, then just laid on my side. Now, I was damned cold.

"Blanche!" I heard a voice call, coming right towards me.

"Here!" I yelled, sitting up.

"There you are!" I recognized that build and that big, ugly hat. Howard Bondurant.

I glared up at him and stood up.

"You hurt, Blanche? Your brother kick my ass if you hurt! I kinda like my ass, wanna keep it." Howard reached his hand out to me, and then pulled me up next to him.

"You're a real moron sometimes, Howard." I said, brushing him off and turning to leave.

"Hey! How about you don't tell Jerry, and I'll give you a ride home!" Howard said.

I don't know why he was afraid of Jerry, Jerry wasn't bigger, meaner, or tougher than him. I suppose that it was the men Jerry worked with, all those fancy suits with big guns from Chicago and New York. But Howard wouldn't get hurt over me, that was just absurd.

"I can walk." I took a couple steps and then stumbled. My ankle was throbbing pretty good, and I could see it was swollen up. Damn, damn, double damn.

"See, you are hurt! Come on, get in the automobile. I'll have you home in two shakes of a lamb's tail."

I sighed and turned toward his car. No point fighting, Howard would just be a thorn on my side as long as I refused him.

He opened the passenger's door for me, and then, without asking, gently lifted me into the seat, pushing on my thigh and then shutting the door. I watched him run around the car, climb in, restart the engine, and drive.

I wasn't the type to talk to people willy-nilly, and Howard Bondurant had no similarities with me. I was perfectly content to sit in silence and plan out how to tell Mother I wasn't going to walk into town anymore.

Howard, on the other hand, kept on babbling. About everything. I couldn't tune him out, either, because he'd ask me over and over again if I'd got that. It was exhausting listening to him. And he twisted my ankle. Howard and I would probably only ever be business associates.

I pulled out my rolled cigarette tin and took one out, and then Howard stuck his hand out to me.

"If you're gonna smoke, I am too." He said, waggling his fingers.

I rolled my eyes and handed him a cigarette. He lit it and took a deep drag. I did the same. He stopped talking for a while after that, and then we reached my house.

I gathered up my bag and pushed on the door, but Howard had already bounded around and opened it for me. He held his hand out and assisted me down. I limped with him up to my house, and then turned to thank him.

"Look, I'm really sorry I almost ran you over." Howard removed his hat and slapped it against his thigh. "And I'm sorry for acting like an idiot in the car."

"It's fine. Thanks for the ride." I pulled open the door and limped inside, then shut it.

I didn't hear Howard walk away for another few minutes, but I did hear him packing and slapping his hat.


	3. Chapter 3

Mother pounced as soon as I walked in the door.

"Blanche Josephine Dixon!" I was in trouble. "We got company coming over tonight, go take a bath!"

I pulled a face. "I don't want to."

"You're too old for this little argument, Go and take a bath. We're going to style your hair after that. And for God's sake, put on some makeup."

"Yes, Mother."

The bath was going to be lukewarm at best, and it was only going to get away the surface dirt. We didn't have sponges and Jerry had used all the rags for work, so I had to scrub my body with the rough lye soap. My hair was greasy and smelled a lot like me, but Mother threw some rose-scented oil on me and that was the end of that.

She brushed out my hair, which was no easy task. It was long and curly, usually worn up on top of my head under a hat, but Mother insisted on me looking like a lady tonight. I couldn't put my finger on it, but Mother was being pushy and loving at the same time. She sighed and cooed about 'her little baby' while she rouged my cheeks and powdered my face.

About 20 minutes later, I stood in a towel looking at the face in the mirror.

The skin was tanned, pulled tight from work and little food. The eyes were large and green, framed by a ring of dark eyelashes and heavy eyebrows. The hair was pulled into a pretty chignon, with some corkscrew tendrils falling down past the rosy cheeks.

I couldn't believe that this was me.

I was still wearing a towel, but I didn't want to change into my nice shift. I felt like I was losing myself. This wasn't me. This was who mother wanted me to be, and in that small, short moment, I hated her.

I don't know why she wanted me to be this person. Who was important enough to have me dress this way? Why couldn't I just stay in my room?

It didn't matter much, I guess. Five seconds later mother was throwing a pretty dress at me and fussing over shoes. The dress was shapely and light-colored; it had embroidered flowers at the bottom and a touch of lace at the middle. The belt was lighter than the dress, and made of a thick ribbon. Mother tied me into it, cinching my waist farther in than should have been comfortable. I had lost a lot of weight. She handed me the simple kitten heels and then kicked me out of her room.

I stood in the hallway, my legs getting goose pimples from the draft through the house. I looked ridiculous. I looked like an idiot. I looked like a proper young woman. Well, I wasn't going to act like one. I was, in fact, going out front to have a cigarette.

I grabbed an old quilt from on top of the table and opened the front door.

Several pairs of headlights blinded me, and I threw my hands up to shield my face. The car's engines slowly died and a low hum of man's voices filled the air. Then, I heard a boot crunch on the ground.

"Blanchie!" a familiar voice yelled, "Hey, Blanchie!"

"Jerry?" I whispered. There were some footsteps, and then there he was.

My face split into the biggest smile I can ever remember putting on. Jerry was back!

"Jerry!" I shouted, dropping the quilt and running into his arms. He smelled like oil and alcohol and Jerry. His body was bigger than I remembered; he had gained a lot of muscle. He lifted me above his head by my waist, smiling up at me.

When he finally put me back down, he stepped out of the way and gestured toward the other cars.

"Alright, well, this is Blanche. She's my sister." Jerry said, his voice rumbling.

"She the main course?" I heard a stringy voice yell from the back, "Cuz I'd sure eat her up!"

"Quiet, Neville. Anyways, Blanche, this is my boss' boss, Floyd Banner. He's the CEO of his company! Mr. Banner here agreed to have dinner with our family on account of my loyal service to his business." Jerry puffed up like a proud lion. He was beaming.

I heard some snickers in the background.

The man he had introduced was probably the most handsome man I had ever seen. He looked well-fed, with some streaks of gray in his swept-back hair. His hair contrasted heavily with his bright blue eyes and light skin. He had a sharp moustache and wore a tailored suit, complete with fabric square in the pocket. God, was he tall. I was shrinking under his gaze, it was searing straight through me.

Oh, Jesus Christ was he beautiful. And he was reaching for my hand.

"Please, call me Floyd." He said, his voice sounding like nothing I had heard before. It was low but also clipped, like he was holding back something. He kissed my hand and bowed, and I blushed. Hard. Jesus.

"Welcome to our… home…" I said, not dropping eye contact with this Adonis. Jerry tugged on my dress, and the moment was gone.

"Welcome, Mr. Floyd sir. Dinner will be served presently. Right this way and please wipe your feet." I said, gesturing toward the door.

"Jerry, son, come show me this house of yours, I'm mighty intrigued." Mr. Floyd said, and clapped Jerry on the back.

One by one, the men followed them in. I recognized Jerry's boss, the one who had been over a couple times. He was still handsome and still snooty. He passed me by with little more than a glance and after him they all introduced themselves to me, and I to them, but I wasn't paying attention.

Why was this beautiful man here in our hovel? He seemed so out of place, kind of like a lion in a sitting room. Or maybe more like Floyd Banner in a run-down log cabin.

I didn't know what Jerry's angle was here, but I did know one thing. I was very interested in whatever was happening here, I wanted in.


	4. Chapter 4

The cold had started to set in. Mother was attempting to keep some kind of fire burning in the hearth at all times, so I took to splitting wood every morning, then tending to the fire during the day and evening. It wasn't the best use of my time, and it wasn't womanly work. I took to wearing Jerry's old overalls and boots. My hair was constantly tied up, my face covered in soot.

I hadn't been able to stop thinking of the dinner a couple weeks ago. Floyd Banner was pressed into my brain. He had been mighty entertaining, and we had talked most of the night. At the end of the dinner, he had thanked mother with a stack of money, and me with a kiss on the hand.

Mother had wasted the money on booze, shoes and a dress for herself. I suppose it had just been her in the right place at the wrong state of mind, though; because I knew she couldn't look at my thinning face and know what she did was wrong.

I was chopping wood and humming a tune when I heard the motor. Mother wasn't expecting anyone today, and I didn't have any friends. I turned to look, but it wasn't the Bondurant's car, either.

It was Floyd Banner's.

The sun shined off his shoes and hair as he stepped into the clear, cool day. He put on a pair of dark glasses and waved when he saw me.

I pulled a bandana out of my back pocket and furiously rubbed my face, hoping to get the dirt out.

"Ms. Blanche, such a pleasure." He leaned over and took my hand. I blushed, hard, through the soot and sweat on my face.

"I see your mother didn't tell you…" he trailed, smirking at my base apprearence.

"No sir, she didn't." I said, wiping off my face with an unrolled sleeve. He released my hand and storked his chin.

"How long would it take you to be ready to go?"

"Go where, sir?"

"For now, let's just say out."

I shrugged.

"Why do you want to take me anywhere, sir?"

"Professional reasons, my dear. Professional reasons." He looked at me thoughtfully, then turned on his heel.

"Tomorrow at this time, I expect you to be clean, dry, and ready to go."

"Mr. Banner, go where?"

"It doesn't matter; Blanche, but you won't regret it. Tomorrow." He tipped his hat at me and walked back to his car.

I watched him walk away and felt sick. What could Floyd Banner, a man in big business with hundreds of men following his direction, want with me?

I was going to find out.


End file.
